


Stars Between

by angst_goblin



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby! Tony, Big! Bucky, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes & Tony Stark Friendship, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Found Family, Gen, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Little! Tony, Littles Are Known, Mother Hen Bucky Barnes, Non-Sexual Age Play, Papa! Bucky, Protective Bruce Banner, Protective Bucky Barnes, Recovery, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, nsap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22112239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angst_goblin/pseuds/angst_goblin
Summary: Littles are known and the Avengers have an established dynamic. Bruce and Clint are littles and Thor, Steve, and Coulson care for them. Tony isn't part of it because he's not a little.So why, then, does Bucky get a strange feeling about all this?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 678





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this house we do not know who Canon is.

Bucky sat at the sofa watching the two idiots that he's known for decades arguing over the right movie for the others to have a relaxing night. Steve, of course, argued that something low-tension and calm (a documentary) would be the safer option. Nobody argued over documentaries. Nobody received “dangerous messages” from nature documentaries.

_~~They were arguing about it now though so maybe Steve's argument was a bit flawed.~~ _

Natasha, of course, had the brains to say that sure, they didn't have anything that could be misinterpreted but nature was a cruel place and children shouldn't be watching animals mauling each other to death.

Bucky's eye twitched when they turned to him for the umpteenth time to ask for his opinion on whether a nature documentary would be better as opposed to a movie with a title that sounded like “The Sniper”. 

_A gun in his hands. He's not shaking anymore even though something in his stomach is threatening to throw up whatever he'd eaten last. There's a target in front of him and he isn't sure if it's a realistic mannequin or someone real this time. He isn't sure he wants to know because to know is to be responsible, to know is a punishment._

_Because he'll need to fire either way._

_“Ready, Soldier. And fi-”_

“Why not Disney?” he asked, tearing himself out of his own thoughts. Silence followed as if he'd asked them to cut the black wire instead of the red one. 

“Disney...” Steve said, shaking his head. _“Of course.”_

Natasha closed the oven with her hip and frowned at the dish she held. “In retrospect, that's a better idea.”

Steve nodded. “Well, that settles it. Disney it is. Now, which Disney movie...” He began fiddling with the remote, trying to find a good movie. 

Bucky put his phone in his pocket, tired of scrolling through the different DMs from “fans”. That was one of the weirder aspects of his life after Steve found him and he was reformed to be more Bucky than Winter Soldier. Sure, it took some heavy scientific crap that he barely understood to reprogram his brain into finally being his again, but with the help of Anthony and Bruce, it worked.

“Who's going to be watching the movie?” Bucky asked.

Steve replied, “Well, Clint, Nat, and Bruce are sure to attend. Me too, of course. Maybe Thor if he wants to join us in watching. What about you? I mean, if you're not feeling up to it...”

Bucky thought about it and shrugged. “I'll think it through.” 

“Alright, well, I guess that would make 4 of us for sure, possibly 5 or 6 if you do show up.”

“What about Anthony?”

Steve shook his head with a laugh. “He's probably in his lab or in his office or something. He doesn't really join for team bonding exercises and stuff. He flies his own flight and isn't a 'team person', so to speak.”

Natasha placed down some snacks on the coffee table. “The man lives off of coffee, adrenaline, and his books. He's worse than a kid sometimes.”

 _Kids_. Bucky did his best not to remember a group of young girls and a red room and one little girl who looked at him with such intense eyes that Bucky decided to call her the _itsy bitsy spider._

Unaware of the places that Bucky's mind was going, Steve continued, “You could say that again. Getting him to eat is harder than trying to understand how those mobile cellphones work. If I didn't know better, I'd think he's a little.”

“Is he?”

It was Natasha who shook her head. “A little bit of an ass, but no. His files have him documented as a Neutral. He was classified at the age of 16 with his father as a witness.”

Howard Stark. The man that the Soldier had killed along with his wife, leaving behind a terrified boy with a mind sharper than a knife and a heart that kept singing a song of sorrow.

Anthony and Bucky had talked about it, of course. 

It took several weeks for Anthony to return to the tower after the initial discussion because the knowledge ripped open a wound long closed and proceeded to pour a bottle of salt onto it. Nobody knew where he went, but Steve had assured Bucky that it would be okay, that Anthony had a habit of running but he would come back, he always did.

In spite of Steve's words, though, Bucky packed his things cleanly and prepared himself for a beating. It was the most natural thing to expect, of course, so he was ready to take it like a man.

The beating never came. What actually happened was that Anthony approached him on the rooftop, sat next to him, and offered him a beer. They just sat there for an hour, drinking. Bucky didn't mention that his system burned through the beer too quick for him to really enjoy it, keeping his eyes on the canvas of stars above them, stretching far and wide. Tony did the same, staring up at the sky with eyes that said more than his mouth ever would.

“Do you remember? Do you remember when you...” Tony said suddenly, not turning to face Bucky.

Bucky hesitated, still holding the beer bottle in his hands. There were no words he could say to make it better. “I'm sorry.” 

“Do you _**remember**_?” 

“No.”

It was the truth, of course, that he didn't. He didn't remember most of what he'd done and perhaps it was a small mercy. He didn't know if he'd be able to remember the things he'd done, the lives he'd taken and be able to live with himself. _How many families did I tear apart?_

Anthony had sighed, then, and Bucky didn't know whether or not it would have been better for him to remember or not. Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. Either way, Bucky would not have been able to take back what he'd done.

“My mother's favorite song was _Hey Jude_. She would play that on the piano sometimes. I think you would have liked it.” Anthony stood up, patting Bucky on the shoulder as if he didn't just make Bucky's chest deflate with his words. “Well, I'm off, Bucko.”

“Anthony?”

Anthony turned to look back at him, looking mildly confused. “Yeah?”

“I mean it. I _am_ sorry. If you want me to leave-”

“No.” The words were quick, curt, but matter-of-fact, as if he'd decided them before Bucky had even asked. 

And that was it. Anthony turned around and walked away, leaving Bucky on the rooftop with his thoughts and regrets. Bucky didn't think that he would have been able to do the same thing and forgive his parents' murderer. 

Mind-controlled or not. He wouldn't have been able to just _live_ with the person who did numerous acts of violence and said, _no, it's fine._

“Buck?” Steve asked, grabbing Bucky's attention and dragging him back to the present. He blinked, realizing that Steve and Natasha were now staring at him. Shit. “You alright?”

Bucky nodded, standing and pointing at the door. “Yeah, I'm going to, uh, dust my... rug.”

He didn't have a rug after Clint accidentally set it on fire. He hoped neither of them knew that.

He swiftly turned and left, leaving the conversation at that and exiting into the hallway. Behind him, he heard Steve lightly telling Natasha she shouldn't have mentioned the father. He tried not to bristle. Steve was doing his best, of course, but the way to make someone feel less like a monster was not to cradle them into suffocation.

If anything, it made him more agitated sometimes, but at least he was trying better to be subtle about it.

Bucky loved the kid to bits, but he wished they could just... be themselves without being held up to the standard of their past. Without Steve's imploring sad eyes and prying questions. 

* * *

Bucky sighed, throwing his phone onto his bed to leave behind whatever stupid arguments people could throw at him on Twitter about his decision to say that he thought that technology was something valuable and he was glad that the children today were lucky.

Of course, that started an argument which was stupid and hard enough as it was without it having to be limited in characters. 

Someone, a senior citizen (though, naturally, not as senior as him) said: All this tech and these gadgets- everything is easy for them nowadays. They don't know how hard it used to be.

To which he replied: Wasn't that the point? 

He went to war, after all, so that the coming generations would survive, thrive, and be able to live more comfortably than he did. 

Stuck in his thoughts, he barely noticed anything around him until he had a pair of hands around his right arm. He froze, looking down at Clint who was dressed in a dust-covered orange shirt and sweatpants. “Buuuuuuck, can you help me get to the vents, pretty please? I left Mellie up there and now I can't get back because it's too high!”

Mellie, the melon-colored bear. 

Instead of asking why Clint wouldn't just retrace his steps and start where he started initially to access the area of the vents that Mellie got stuck, he asked, “Uh, are you allowed in the vents?”

Clint nodded, some dust flying from his hair when he moved. How long was he in the vents?

“Yeah! I swear. I'm always-” Clint turned, sneezing. Bucky grimaced. “'m always allowed in the vents.”

“Uh, fine.” He turned around. “Hop on, birdboy.”

Clint did, jumping and struggling to settle on Bucky's shoulders, which made it hard to lift him up to the vents without dropping him.

“Stop moving!” Clint yelled unsteadily, stepping on Bucky's hair and collarbone. 

“Here, step on my hands and I'll lift you,” Bucky said with a groan. Lifting Clint with his hands worked a bit better, and at least Clint no longer stepped on his hair constantly and Bucky's collarbone was no longer in danger of being broken by hawk ass or foot.

“What the hell is going on here?” 

“Natasha!” Clint flinched and nearly fell before Bucky caught him and lowered him to the ground. Clint spun around, looking nervous like a kid that got caught trying to climb into the vents again. “Mellie's stuck in the vents!”

Natasha stared at Clint for a few seconds before she exhaled and extended a hand. “Come here, Clint,” she said, voice gentle. 

“But Mellie-”

“I'll have someone else get it for you. For now,” she said, taking Clint's hand and giving Bucky a nod. “Why don't you and I go to your floor? Phil called earlier.”

“Papa?”

“Papa,” Nat confirmed, leading a now-excited Clint to the elevator. Bucky watched them leave with a small smile, walking with a gentle ache in his chest. 

It was great, of course, that he was in a team in which there were littles abound and he could sometimes babysit or care for them when their caretakers were busy or on a mission. It was great that he had openly little friends and they received the care they needed. They were happy. Bruce was cared for by Thor and Steve. Clint had Natasha when Phil was gone. 

In spite of his happiness for them, though, a small piece of him ached at the fact that he didn't have a little of his own to care for. There was a daycare he baby-sitted at from time to time that Wilson had introduced him to, but it wasn't exactly a little he could take home, could take care of, could tuck into bed and wake up in the morning still next to.

It was selfish.

It was a thought and a longing that was his, though, selfish as it was.

And even though he knew he was a member of the team, that didn't really help when he knew that the littles would always look to someone else before they would turn to him. Because both of the littles knew the others better, trusted them more, and maybe because Steve would sometimes take the littles from Bucky because he didn't want Bucky to get overwhelmed or stressed. Littles, after all, were messy and loud and emotional. And Bucky needed quiet, order, and peace after everything. So Steve thought, of course.

It was meant to be a thoughtful and kind act. Steve probably didn't even notice he was doing it.

And maybe, just maybe, Bucky detested him for it, just a little bit,

Alone, Bucky got Mellie quickly. The dust-clad bear stared back at him, limp in his hands. “Come on, Mell. You're going to go for a bath,” he told the stuffed bear that just kept smiling back at him. As he stared at it, he nearly toppled over when a sudden weight slammed against his back. He buried his feet into the ground to prevent falling, though the weight- Anthony- wasn't able to, and stumbled against the coffee table. If Bucky didn't immediately drop Mellie and make a dive for the vase, there would have been a thousand pieces of the ugly vase at their feet.

“Woah there,” Bucky said, helping steady the young mechanic who looked... off. “You alright there, Anth?”

Anthony looked up at him, steadying his breath, and nodded with a smile that was more reflex than anything. The cogs in Bucky's mind turned on, turning as he analyzed Anthony, his mind spitting out the things he could deduce from Anthony. Tired eyes that looked like he hadn't slept in a few days- not unordinary for him- and a frame that looked like he hadn't been eating as much as he should be. His skin, from what Bucky could see, wasn't bruised nor wounded, yet his face held an ugly bruise on his right cheek. Sweat beaded on his forehead even though he was only wearing an undershirt, his arc reactor barely peeking out of his shirt.

Anthony nodded absently, looking away quickly. “I'm good, yeah, sorry, sorry. Have you- Have you seen Bruce? Or Loki?”

Bucky frowned. “No, I haven't. Why do you ask?” 

Anthony laughed a bit, looking a bit feral, already stepping to move away. “Nothing, Buck. Excuse me, please, I need to find Bruce.”

Bucky reached out, trying to grab Anthony's wrist to keep him from worming his way out of the room. At least, that was his intention. Instead, Anthony flinched so hard that he stumbled backward and hit the wall, his arms flying up to cover his face. 

A moment passed.

Anthony exhaled, lowering his arms and staring at the floor with an expression of weariness and shame, all the fight leaving his body. 

The silence was thick, settling heavily in Bucky's lungs as he stared at the smaller man who seemed to be trying to find a way to recover from it but couldn't think of a way for him to salvage his pride. Bucky knew that flinch. It was the flinch of someone who had too many fists flying their way and learned to associate touch with pain.

_“Ready to comply.”_

“Come here,” he said, looking around them. It would be tight but it would be enough for now. He didn't think Anthony would follow him to the library for this and doing it somewhere else may draw attention.

Anthony's eyes flew over him nervously, analyzing him back, looking beyond him where the elevator was. “Why? What's going on?”

Bucky put both hands up, his palms facing Anthony. “Put your arms up, Anthony.” 

Still, Anthony refused to move, his arms curled around himself insecurely. “What are you doing?”

“The next time someone hits you, you need to know what to do.”

“I have my iron man suit if someone hurts me.”

But that hasn't been enough in the past, has it? “Iron Man is for thugs and terrorists. Put your fists up. This is for when it's personal.”

“I don't think that's necessary-”

“Anthony. Hands up.” Anthony looked up at the tone and obeyed with a sigh, his hands balled in front of him. “There we go. Now swing- and mean it.”

He and Anthony trained like that for the next twenty minutes, standing in the middle of the hallway between the elevator and the library, with Anthony swinging at his palms and Bucky correcting him on how to properly swing to be as efficient without opening himself up to attacks. 

How to be dangerous without killing.

“There we go, you're learning, Anthony.”

“Tony,” he responded, a small smile on his face. “Don't call me Anthony, I'm not a 70-year-old writer.”

“Okay. Tony. You did good. Now promise me that next time someone swings at you, you swing right back, alright?”

Tony looked up at him, eyes open even though Bucky couldn't read the emotion from his eyes. “Okay. I will.”

Bucky gave him a smile and a pat on the back that he made sure that Tony could see and anticipate. Softer, he repeated, “You did _good_.” A warm smile spread across Tony's face and he looked away. Bucky gave him a nod and began walking to the elevator, ready to go to his floor.

“Bucky?” Tony called after him when he was halfway down the hall. He turned to look at him still standing there with a smile on his face. “Thanks.”

A warmth spread through Bucky's chest at the simple words and he grinned. “No problem. If you need another training session, look for me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces come together. Bucky learns a secret that Tony's been keeping.

Bucky was just settling down for the night when the sound of loud and quick raps at his door drew his attention. He grabbed his bat and placed it behind him, walking to the door and opening it just enough to see Bruce standing on the other side, holding a couple boxes in his hands. “Bruce?”

“I need your help,” Bruce quickly responded. “I can't explain anything yet but please promise you won't tell anyone, least of all Steve.”

Bucky lowered the bat next to him subtly, “Sure. Lead the way, Doc.”

Bruce quickly turned, walking briskly. Bucky followed him, wondering what the problem might be. They didn't share any words until they entered the elevator. “Tony's floor,” Bruce said, giving Bucky a look as if wondering if he's doing the right choice. He didn't tell Bucky to leave, though, and so they continued, walking down the hallway leading to Tony's room. 

It was dark, barely any lights lit in the room except for a tablet on the bed which gave Bucky enough light to be able to see that the bed was upturned and the lamp shattered against the wall. Bruce didn't blink at the state of the room, though. Instead, he continued to the bathroom that was connected to the room, and Bucky saw the problem.

The problem being Tony Stark, who was sitting inside of the empty tub, tremors running through his entire body. His clothes were soaked wet with sweat, sticking to his body as he laid against the wall of the tub. 

“What happened to him?” Bucky asked, quickly moving forward to try and see how conscious he was. He barely stirred with a hand on his shoulder, which made something heavy and cold settle in Bucky's stomach. 

Bruce knelt down, settling the boxes down in front of him. “He hasn't had his medication.”

“Medication? He's sick?”

Bruce shook his head. “No. They're for repressing headspace and he hasn't taken them and he doesn't have a caretaker so he's in a state of withdrawal from not taking his medication and his body is struggling to adjust particularly given the fact he doesn't have a caretaker. I thought you could watch over him for a moment, it might help to have a caretaker near him. I'll be creating an intramuscular injection, I don't know if he can be helpful in swallowing right now.”

“He's... a little?”

Bruce frowned at the liquids in front of him. “Yes, but you can't... tell anyone. He doesn't want it to get out and you're one of the only 3 people that know.”

Something in Bucky's mind clicked. “You and Loki.”

“Yeah.” Bruce mixed two liquids and waited for it to settle. “Loki's good with little ones and Tony stays on my floor from time to time when he's in his headspace.”

It made sense, of course, that Tony would seek out the Silver Tongue who nobody would believe if he spilled Tony's secret and the scientist who had darker secrets that he knew. It was a calculated risk.

~~_But what made him so afraid for it to be found out?  
_ ~~

~~_Who instilled that fear?_ ~~

“How long has he been stuck in this state?” 

Bruce looked up, checked the time. “He messaged me around midnight, though I don't know how long he's gone without medication. After he and his hired caretaker had a fight he hasn't been little, I don't think.”

_The bruise from 2 weeks ago._

_The **flinch**._

“His hired caregiver hits him?” Bruce grimaced at his tone, and Bucky exhaled sharply. “Who is this help?”

“Bucky-”

“Bruce. Tony had a bruise on his face and flinched away from me. The little guy was terrified I was going to swing at him. I just wanna know who this guy is, because if he's working for other littles, then I want to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else.”

Bruce buckled down, nodding. “His name is Alexander Goodwin.”

Bucky filed that away for later. “How small is Tony usually?”

“Oh, young. Really young. Younger than Clint and me, anyway. He's about 1 or 2, usually.”

And he'd been without a caretaker for all this time. “Nat told me he was classified as a Neutral.”

“Yes, although his dad actually used a Form 34-90 so that they could bypass the results of the exam and just pay the fee and do the paperwork to be classified as a Neutral, saying that it was for “personal” reasons that Tony be classed as a Neutral. Truth is, I think it was more because Tony's dad didn't want his image to be sullied and because if the media knew that Tony was a little, it could affect how the Stark Industry was run.”

One of the 'traditionalists' then. It sickened Bucky.

“Can we get him out of that tub? I think he'd be more comfortable in a bed.”

Bruce looked up as if he hadn't thought of it, then nodded. “Sure, I didn't think I could lift him myself, but you can probably lift the tub with him. You handle him and I'll go right the bed for you.” Bucky reached down and lifted Tony into his arms, shifting to make sure that Tony was comfortable. Tony nuzzled close to him, his arms wrapping tightly around Bucky even in sleep, letting Bucky carry him out of the bedroom. Bucky smiled at the little rascal.

An idea seemed to cross Bruce's mind. “You know... If you're willing, I could make some modifications to this medication. I could, um, make it more effective.”

Bucky met his eyes and saw the words that Bruce wasn't saying. He gave a small nod. “Yeah, I think that's a good idea. It needs to last longer.”

“It really does, doesn't it,” Bruce murmured, putting his supplies back into the box. Bucky wondered how secure and smart it was to transport chemicals like that and whether the medication was meant to be made in the bathroom.

He highly doubted it.

“Hey, can I ask something, Bruce?” Bruce nodded. “How legal is the medication you two make?”

Bruce averted his eyes, and that was all Bucky needed to know. “Ah, I see. Well, you should get some rest, I'll watch over Tony for the night. I'll have Jarvis call you if we need anything.”

“His things are in the other room. For his headspace, I mean. The code is 'Rhode-island'. I doubt he'll wake until tomorrow morning, but he'll be fine. Jarvis will keep an eye on his vitals and report anything unusual. As it is, he's feverish, but he'll be okay.”

Bruce turned to leave, switching on the lights for Bucky as he went. “And. Thank you, Sergeant.”

Bucky placed down Tony on the bed and moved to the other room that Bruce was talking about. It was a lackluster room that had a worn-out rug in the middle, a highchair in various pieces, a changing table, a crib pressed against the far wall, and a container of toys and various things that overflowed onto the floor.

Bucky's jaw tightened as he stared at the room. "Looks like a fucking storage in here. This is where dreams go to die."

He quickly picked out some clean clothes from the closet, a large blue shirt with unicorns, and some soft black pajama pants. He decided to leave behind the diapers and pull-ups for later, electing to grab a pacifier and a large stuffed bear with a red bow-tie that looked like a favorite with how worn it was compared to the rest.

Bucky took his loot to the other room, quickly getting the sweat-stained clothes off of Tony and replacing them with clothes more fit for a little one.

"There we go. You look less like a mechanic and more like a kid." He placed the bear in Tony's arms, grinning when Tony wrapped his arms around it instinctively. "Well I guess I picked the right stuffed animal."

The caregiver in him stirred awake, warmth spreading through his chest. ~~It'd been so long since he felt it.~~

Tony was going to be alright. Bucky would stay with him until he was. 

He settled in beside the boy after a moment's consideration, deciding that it would be safer to sleep near him just in case something happened in the night.

“Goodnight, Tony.”


	3. Chapter 3

By the time that morning came, Tony was still deep in headspace, cracking open wide brown eyes that stared back at Bucky. Bucky had been watching over him, fretting that his fever might get worse, but it had receded in the night, pushed back with each hour. Bucky gave Tony a gentle look, “Hey, buddy. How you feeling?”

There was no response, though Bucky didn't really expect one either. That was alright, though. He could deal with non-verbal. Non-verbal was better than unconscious. “You're alright, I've got you. You're sick because you forgot to take your meds, so I'm watching over you until you feel good. Is that okay?”

Tony nodded, putting his fingers in his mouth before Bucky interfered, giving him a red pacifier instead. He'd done some cleaning up while Tony slept which, oddly enough, made him feel more put together than he did on another day, as if he'd looked at his mental health and said, _ey look at me, bitch._

Most of the time, it was difficult to get the energy to get out of bed, let alone clean. But he had a little one who was sick and he didn't want Tony to stay in such an environment where he could get sick from the germs or worse- get hurt because his Tony seemed to be a curator of things that could easily kill him if he was in headspace.

Bucky didn't want to know why Tony thought having a repulsor next to an outlet was a good idea. All Bucky cared about was that he'd put it away.

“Here, I made you something to eat. Do you think your stomach can handle it?” he asked, lifting Tony into his arms and carrying him into the kitchen. He had a sippy cup placed on the highchair along with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a smaller bowl of sliced up fruits. He placed Tony down on the highchair, pulling up a stool in front of him. He handed the spoon to Tony, who took it in his clumsy hand and stared up at Bucky. “You need me to feed you, kid?”

Tony hummed and Bucky took that as a yes because the kid was hitting his spoon against the edge of the surface. “Here, lemme do it, bud.” Tony pliantly let him take the spoon, opening his mouth and letting Bucky feed him. Bucky's heart melted at the sight of Tony, staring up at him with such trust.

It had been a long time since anyone looked at Bucky with that level of trust.

“There we go, you're doing real good for me, c _ucciolo_.” Tony beamed at the praise. Bucky silently praised himself for knowing that a regressed Tony would be more receptive to the language his mother spoke to him in. Once finished with the meal, Bucky put away the food, glad to note that Tony seemed to be doing a lot better than he was last night.

  
The image of Tony last night was an image that would likely force itself upon Bucky in the intimate hours of the night when all he wanted was sleep.

Using a baby wipe, Bucky wiped the mess from his face, cleaning up his face and hands. “There we go.” He placed the dishes in the sink and lifted Tony back into his arms. He easily settled against Bucky. “Let's watch some TV, hm?”

He sat in front of the TV, leaning back and letting Tony decide if he wanted to sit beside Bucky, though he elected to remain on the soldier. Bucky wasn't one to complain, feeling like, suddenly, something was _complete_ before he'd even known it was missing. It just felt right, the way that Tony melted against him and would look up to him, playing with his hair.

It felt like suddenly, Bucky had a Little. Someone who was _his_ and not anyone else's.

They spent several hours just watching some baby shows with bright colors and big shapes, Bucky occasionally pointing at stuff and asking him what color it was or what animal it was. Tony just seemed content to be pressed against him and Bucky couldn't fault him for his touch starvation if he'd been refusing to go into headspace.

Bucky was honestly surprised that Tony'd hidden it from them for this long. Though now that he knew, some pieces did seem to fit more easily. Tony's smaller stature, the way he would disappear sometimes and show up refreshed, his playfulness, the way he would sometimes forget to tend to his needs.

It all made sense, but somehow he'd missed it. He missed it because everyone else was dead certain that Tony was just an asshole.

Though, perhaps Tony pulled away from the team and built up his own reputation of being an asshole to take attention away from his secret. Bucky would know- it was easier to hide things if people looked at you and saw something else. If people barely knew who you really were but thought they knew everything, it became a lot harder for them to find your weak points. Because the person in their head is different from the person in front of them.

Tony squirmed restlessly and Bucky decided that it was time for them to do a different activity. “Here, let's go play with these toy cars and trains.” He plopped Tony down on his play mat, sitting in front of him. “Look, it goes choo choo!”

Tony babbled at him, holding the bright red car in his hands and running it around the mat. Bucky watched him go, letting him exert his energy before he went down for a nap so Bucky could cook some lunch.

“Sergeant Barnes?” came the voice of Jarvis and Bucky looked up on habit in spite of knowing that _technically_ Jarvis wasn't in the ceiling. “Captain Rogers is currently inquiring about your whereabouts. What shall I tell him?”

Bucky hummed, looking down at Tony who didn't even seem to notice Jarvis's voice. “Well, tell him I'm on Tony's floor and I am busy. Tell him I said,” and then he continued to stare at the ceiling with fingers moving in front of him. Jarvis seemed to understand how to translate the look and sign.

After a few minutes, Jarvis spoke up once more. “Captain Rogers has responded a sign that I believe translates to 'message received'.”

Good. That would buy Bucky some time until Tony was no longer feverish and could hold a conversation as his bigger counterpart.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully with Tony, playing and cuddling with him.

“How's he holding up?” Bruce asked, stepping into the room with a large bag of cheetos. He sat on the sofa, staring at Tony with bright eyes that Bucky knew meant he was completely in “Doctor Mode” as they'd called it. “He seems better. Definitely more responsive, his eyes are no longer glassy, and he's active.”

In the playpen, Tony threw a block and watched the tower fall.

Bucky sat down next to Bruce, who handed over the cheetos. “Here, he likes this type of chips.”

“Yeah, he's been... good this morning and all of yesterday. No complaining, ate most of what I fed him, slept even if he woke up every few hours. He seems healthy, though there are times when he just zones out.”

Bruce hummed in thought, leaning over and resting his chin on his hands. “I think he's recovering. Though, without his medication, I don't know how long he'll be regressed.”

“Is that the only symptom of not taking them?”

“Well, if he has a caretaker, it's easier for his system to accept the lack of pills because they are, at core, there to simply suppress his need to be cared for. They do not erase the fact that he needs to be in headspace so much as it overrides his system into allowing him to stay big for extended periods of time beyond what would be “safe” for someone who isn't on the treatments, so when he stops taking the pills or treatments, all of those urges would come rushing back at full force and he'd crash. Now that you're here, he is safe, because he can be in headspace freely and isn't alone to deal with his needs. You're here to hold him, comfort him, and otherwise help him.

“Without a caretaker, he'd likely be feverish as his system tries to get him into headspace in spite of what he wants and, once it forces him into headspace by force, he would be helpless and fall ill as his body searches for touch, comfort, and care. If the entire situation allowed to stretch on for longer than absolutely necessary, it has been observed to... cause death. Hence it's status as a technically 'illegal' treatment.”

Bucky was silent, staring at Tony. “So the cure is... to let him be in headspace? With a caretaker?”

“That and time, I think. And touch. People who've taken the repression pills are much more in need of touch than others.”

Bucky sighed deeply, unable to keep the thought of a helpless, sick little who had nobody to care for them. It made the caregiver in him positively _ache_ with sadness and anger over how such a thing could happen. In an ideal world, people wouldn't need to suppress headspace. In an ideal world, every little would have a caregiver.

Bruce gave him a curious look. “You might be in for a long ride of caring for him until he ages up, Bucky.”

“And?”

“And... If you're not willing or able to handle that responsibility, just let me know, okay?” Bruce said, voice soft and tired. “Don't just leave him like that. I don't want him to get hurt.”

“You sound like someone's done that in the past.”

Silence.

“He's had a rough go of it, hasn't he?” Bucky said. Beside him, Bruce leaned back and removed his glasses.

“He has.”

Neither man spoke for a while, sitting in silence as they watched the little one on the floor stack some blocks on top of each other and then push it all down.

* * *

Two weeks.

That was how long it took before Tony blinked his eyes awake and Bucky could see him gathering himself before he met Bucky's eyes. Bucky put down the sippy cup in his hands he was collecting to put in the dishwasher, looking at the younger man and wondering what might be going through his head.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- I didn't think that...” The first words spoken by Tony in 2 weeks and the words were to _apologize_. As if Bucky would be angry now that he was big. “I'm sorry,” he repeated himself, sounding small in a completely different way.  
  
Bucky looked at him, though Tony seemed to be doing everything he could to avoid looking at Bucky. “Tony. Look at me, please.” He waited until Tony did as he'd asked before he began talking, chest heavy at the ending of him taking care of Tony. ~~Bucky had~~ _ ~~enjoyed~~_ ~~the two weeks. Bucky was~~ _ ~~happy.~~ _“There's nothing to be sorry for, except for your usage of pills that are illegal.”

“I forced you to take care of me and I honestly didn't-”

Bucky raised a hand and Tony fell silent. _~~How many hands have swung at him for speaking out of turn?~~ _ “You didn't force me to do anything. You were in headspace and I took care of you. You were sick and I volunteered to make sure you would be safe and cared for.”

Tony's face contorted like he didn't understand the words that were being spoken. “I didn't mean to burden you for however long I was... helpless.”

  
“I... enjoyed it,” Bucky admitted. The words were selfish, sure, but they were true. He _had_. Because when he was taking care of Tony, he suddenly felt less helpless as a human being. When he fed Tony he remembered to eat. When he put Tony down for bed he would fall asleep from a long day of caring for a little one. When Tony napped, he would clean because he didn't want an inquisitive child getting hurt on the things left strewn about.

He felt like he was finally _Bucky_ again after so long of being the Soldier and goddammit he _was happy_ for that time.

Tony flinched. “You don't have to say that to be nice.”

“Tony.” Tony looked up, brown eyes full of an emotion that Bucky knew to be sorrow and shame. He saw the same thing enough times in the mirror. “I did, okay? I'm a caretaker as much as you're a little and it's... been a long time since I took care of anyone. I mean, with my past... I can understand why people have their reservations. But I do mean it. I did enjoy taking care of you. It made me feel...” he trailed off, not knowing how to continue the sentence without sounding like everything was about him.

Selfish. That was all he knew how to be.

Tony's hand reached out, extending a palm; Bucky took his hand into his own, squeezing gently before letting go.

“You made me feel happy, too,” whispered Tony as if it was something only to be said in dark alleyways and abandoned train stations. “You made me feel safe and cared for and warm. It was nice, I'll admit. Though now I'm not sure where we stand now, you know?”

“I mean, if you asked me, I'd like to care more for you. I think it's good for both of us.” It was a distant dream, of course. But if it was so distant, then maybe it didn't matter if he said his wants out loud anyway.

Sometimes if you threw a dart blindly, it'll land in some places you never imagined.

He stared at the wall for a bit, fiddling with some strings on his shirt as he spoke. “I don't want the others to know. Bruce knows, of course he does. He makes me my pills or shots so that I can be big. And Loki knows, too, though that was more of an accident. I guess it's an accident how I found out he's a caregiver too.” He exhaled. “I... I did enjoy having you take care of me. I do appreciate that fact. Honestly, I want to do it again. You were nice to me and didn't yell or anything. You were... _nice to me_." He exhaled as if the idea was a novel one. “It's just... I don't want the team to know.”

“Why?” asked Bucky.

“Because-” there was an ocean of sadness in his words, in between every breath, roaring. “They won't respect me if they find out. Steve already doesn't like me, Natasha thinks I'm an arrogant prick, and Clint- Clint just makes jabs at every turn. They all think I'm an ass and if they find out I'm a little, I might just get kicked from the team.”

“Then I'll talk to them. I think if they know that they wouldn't be so... critical.” Tony remained unswayed by his words. “I mean, how can they hate you for being a little? Clint is a little and he's the archer. Bruce is a little and he's the damn Hulk. What would make you different? Why are you so ashamed of being a little, Tony?”

It took Tony a while to find his words but Bucky had all the time in the world to wait. “You know, my father used to hate that I was little. Said it was 'wrong' and that Stark's weren't meant to be... weak.” The string snapped off. “He would always compare me to Cap. Cap's strong. Cap's Big. Cap's this and he's that. Said that if Captain America found out what I was like...”

A small piece of his regret about what happened to Howard lessened, just a little bit.

“Is that why you and Steve had a rocky start?”

“Part of it was my fault,” he responded, “I guess. I have this problem where I tend to make my existence a nuisance for everyone around me, or so I've been told.”

Bucky watched as another piece of string snapped off. “How about we handle it slowly, yeah? Find a rhythm, see how it goes. I don't know how long we can hide it, though. We're hiding it from two agents, a super-solder who I've known since the beginning of the universe, and a literal God.”

Tony finally- _finally_ \- smiled. “Yeah... Well, hey, I guess we can treat this as an experiment to find out how good their perception and insight is.” He paused. “How are you going to explain to Steve what you've been doing here all this time?”

“Steve is Steve. I told him that I was here because I enjoyed watching you create stuff and it was a way for me to remember my fondness for science. That and we've been playing Dungeons and Dragons with Bruce.”

“For... two weeks?”

Bucky grinned at him, “Well, we need to find out what happens to our quirky rogue and barbarian, don't we?”

Tony quirked his head. “Yeah, that's fair.”

They both fell into silence, watching the show on the TV that Bucky didn't even know he was watching. Something about vampires and angels. “Hey, Buck?” Tony asked softly, looking up at him with such tender eyes that Bucky wanted to hug him. “Thank you. For taking care of me.”

At that, Bucky did lean forward, taking Tony's hand into his own. “Thanks for giving me that chance, squirt. I know that technically it wasn't your choice, but being able to take care of you...” _made me feel less like a monster._ “It showed me that I'm still me, still capable of taking care of others.” Tony shifted until he was next to Bucky, leaning his head on Bucky's shoulder.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we watch Shrek?”

Bucky handed Tony the remote, letting him look for the movie on Netflix. “Anything else you need?”

“Jude.”

“Jude?”

“The big bear with a red bowtie. It's the fluffiest one.”

Bucky went to retrieve it from the bedroom, handing it over to Tony, who immediately curled around it. "You're adorable, kid, you know that?" Tony stuck out his tongue. "Scoot over, movie's gonna start."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading. This is my first attempt at an age regression fic, so I hope I did okay. Tell me what you think, or any prompts because I'll be turning this into a series!


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